


tight and wet and uncomplicated

by Helenish



Series: Here is a thing that isn't happening. [19]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: F/M, M/M, underage mumble mumble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-23
Updated: 2011-02-23
Packaged: 2017-10-15 21:24:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/165081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helenish/pseuds/Helenish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'll pay for that book," he says, in between kisses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tight and wet and uncomplicated

Arthur texts Liesl while he’s waiting for the airport coffee shop to open: _Busy this week?_ He gets an answer back in less than thirty minutes: _Let yourself in, you know the combination._ Arthur throws away his empty coffee cup and heads to the ticket desk to buy a flight to Heidelberg.

Liesl is sitting cross-legged at her kitchen table, eating a breakfast of toast and tea and grading papers when Arthur punches in the code at her door and comes in.

"hello stranger," she says, making an authoritative scribble across a page, dropping her pen and coming around the table. "That was fast."

"I was in the neighborhood," he says, and drops his bag on the floor to wrap one arm around her and kiss her cheek.

"Mm," she says. "You look tired."

"Yeah," Arthur says. She looks like always, tidy round little figure, stylish shag of blonde hair. Her cheek is soft and she smells like toast and nutella and earl grey and ink, and he presses his mouth against her neck once, and then again.

"Would you like some breakfast?” she says.

"Can I just," he says, kissing her neck again and then her jaw, her lower lip, and she hmms appreciatively and opens her mouth, letting him slide his tongue inside. He puts his hands on her hips and backs her up against her kitchen table, kissing her still, her hands in his hair, and then pushing his raincoat, his jacket off his shoulders. "This okay?" he says, shaking his jacket off his arms and fumbling with the little buttons on her cardigan, pressing in against her.

"Yes, yes," she says, and then lets out a little "ah," when he lifts her up onto the table, sliding in between her thighs, shoving her plate and teacup to the side, tea sloshing sideways onto some of the papers. Arthur kisses her frantically, tangling his fingers in her hair and she wraps her legs around his hips and pulls him in, wiggles around until her dress is up around her waist and Arthur's hand is in her underwear. She's wet against his fingers, but not probably ready and he has a single condom somewhere in the bottom of his bag and is so so blindingly desperate that he groans in relief when she says, "here, let me," and reaches for the button of his pants.

He comes about twenty seconds after she gets her hand around his dick.

"Shit," he says, still catching his breath. "Sorry, I don’t--" There's come all over her hand, her dress, on the table and what looks like a library book. "Sorry," he says again.

"That's--all right," Liesl says slowly. She looks flushed and turned on and a little crestfallen.

"Let me just--." Arthur hooks her underpants down off her feet and helps her get her dress up over her head. "You want me to go down on you?" he says, and she dimples.

"That would be very nice," she says. He yanks off his shirt and then toes off his shoes and kicks his pants and underwear off and reaches for her.

"I'll pay for that book," he says, in between kisses. She wraps her legs around him again and he picks her up that way, walking her slowly back into the bedroom with his arm under her ass, lowering her down and climbing up between her legs, kissing her knee and along her inner thighs, pressing his tongue slowly, softly, to the barely slick folds of her labia, first one side and then the other, parting her, putting the tip of his tongue softly to crest of flesh below her clitoris but waiting, waiting, until she opens her legs, pulls one knee up, and then he licks her hard, harder, lets her twist around beneath his mouth, press softly on his head to get him where she wants him, and she sighs, low, “oh.” It takes time, his jaw gets a little sore, and she takes little breathers, rolling her hips up so he's licking at the wet entrance of her vagina until she's sliding back down and letting out a tense, keening cry when the flat of his tongue smacks against her clitoris and one of those times she throws out her hands and arches up and comes, slamming her head back into the pillow and by then, Arthur is hard again.

She's breathless, pink-cheeked, but she says, "yes, let’s," when she sits up, and gets him a condom out of her bedside table.

She goes again on top, curled up with her breasts flattened against his chest, her face tucked into his neck, twitching her hips in little circles, and then one more time, sitting up and leaning back a little, hips working, his thumb flat against her clit; this last one takes a little while, but it’s a pleasure, to lie on his back on Liesl’s flower-patterned sheets and touch her body, to feel her clutched around his cock, tight and wet and uncomplicated.

"How do you want to?" she says.

"This is good," Arthur says, "like this," but she shakes her head, and says,

"My legs are cramping a little, if you don’t mind," so they switch around, Arthur on top, and she wiggles up until her legs are high around his waist and helps get him back inside her, makes soft, low noises as he fucks into her, rubbing her hands down his sides and squeezing her thighs around his hips, and Arthur stares down at her flushed face, her cornflower-blue eyes, and comes in an easy rush of pleasure.

He rolls off her and dumps the condom in her little black and white tiled bathroom, and when he comes back to bed she’s curled up, half asleep. It’s easy to press in against her back and put a hand over her belly and sleep himself.

*

She wakes him at ten, walking out of the bathroom naked, rubbing at her hair with a towel.

"I have a seminar in an hour," she says, and puts on a cotton dress and long, drapey sweater. "Help yourself to anything in the cupboards and I’ll be back by late afternoon."

"Thanks, Liesl," Arthur says. "I’m sorry about, about jumping you like that."

"The timing was unexpected," she says, pulling on a pair of flats, hopping a little, "but not unwelcome. You should sleep, you look awfully tired, still."

Arthur dozes for an hour or two after she leaves and then he showers and changes the sheets, starts a load of wash and cleans up her breakfast dishes, wipes down the table and tidies her papers as best he can. He tries to salvage the book and then finds curry paste and fish sauce in the pantry and makes a late lunch with the vegetables she has in her refrigerator. She comes home with a packet of cookies,

"from that bakery you like," she says, and leans down and kisses him, very fondly, lets him pull her down onto the couch and put his hand under her dress. "You," she says, sometime later, "are very lucky that the term has just started," her fingers curling into the couch cushions as Arthur kneels behind her on the floor and pushes up into her.

"very," Arthur agrees, pressing his face against her shoulder, his thighs trembling with the effort of going slow.

"How long are you in town?" she says, after, when Arthur has tucked her up on the couch under an afghan and is setting the coffee table to rights, brewing a pot of coffee.

"I don’t have anything lined up," Arthur says. "I just wanted to see you for a few days."

"Hm, I’ll say," she says. Arthur, embarrassed, turns back to the cupboard to find a plate for the cookies. Liesl doesn’t say anything until Arthur brings her a cup of coffee and then she nudges over into the couch to make space for him.

"You know I don’t mind a little in-house maid-service and screwing on demand, right?" she says, dunking a cookie in her coffee and taking a bite.

"It’s just--not our usual," Arthur says, because he and Liesl go back; they met when he needed a consult for a specialized job, and he still calls her once a year or so in a professional capacity, but he visits her as a friend, tags along to her lectures and buys her lunch, and they go on long walks or to museums and have a little companionable sex, sometimes, not like this.

"So we can go to the movies tomorrow," she says comfortably, hooking her naked leg over his, but they stay in the next day and fuck in the bathtub, water lurching over the edge, bubble bath stinging Arthur’s eyes, and again in her bed while she tosses her arms languidly above her head and lets Arthur hold them, and then with Arthur on the bottom, her hands pinning his wrists to the bed.

"And now it is imperative that I get some work done," she says, the third day, Sunday, and Arthur sleeps most of that day away and then takes her out for an extravagant dinner.

"I would like to state for the record that I am not--oh!" she says, after three courses and and a shared slice of cake, after a long, slow walk home through cobblestone street slick with rain, when Arthur is lifting her up against the wall of her entryway and pressing his face into the valley of her breasts, "not complaining, but--ah, what--" Arthur doesn’t want to have this conversation so he boosts her up further, changing the angle so he can get his hand between them and she fists her hand in his jacket and tightens her legs around him and her voice dissolves into a rough moan.

But after, she rolls over on the bed where Arthur threw her down to finish, pushes her tangled hair out of her eyes and says,

"all right, what--is new, with you?"

"Liesl," Arthur mumbles, pulling a pillow down over his face.

"It’s just--normally we have very nice, very, very. nice, sex, but this is--hoo," she sighs. "I didn’t actually know you had--" Arthur pulls the pillow off his face. "I mean, you’re just not usually as--um," she smiles and stretches back against the bed, toes flexing, and doesn’t finish the sentence.

"This is beginning to feel a little retroactively insulting," Arthur says.

"Oh, no," she says.

"Nice?" Arthur says.

"It's just, you are usually not so--impassioned," she says, and then winces. "or, let’s say enthused, instead."

"Thanks," Arthur says dryly.

"You know I’m always just glad to see you in one piece," she says, snuggling in and throwing an arm across his chest. Arthur turns his face into her silky hair, lets his mind go a little quiet.

"Why do you think we never--" he says, listening to her soft breathing. "I mean, other than the years of unimaginative and apathetic lovemaking I subjected you to, obviously.”

"Arthur," she says. "let’s not--"

"Come on," Arthur says. "We like each other, we trust--"

"Well, there’s your incredibly, stupidly dangerous and illegal career, to begin with," she says, pushing herself up on her elbows, "and there’s the the fact that it took you three years to tell me anything remotely personal about yourself--"

"Oh, that’s right," Arthur says. "I forgot that you’re sanctimonious and nosy--"

"And you’re defensive and you get a little mean when you fight," Liesl says. "Which is all very well and good for a dear friend who comes around sometimes, but--"

"Right," Arthur says.

"And by the time it didn’t work out, we’d hate each other," she says. "And I can’t stand to blow six years of friendship--"

"and nice sex," Arthur mutters pointedly.

"Yes, very nice sex," she says. "And I couldn’t possibly allow you to jeopardize your safety by having to get your information about post-war encryption techniques from some inferior scholar."

"I forgot that you’re also kind of conceited," Arthur says and she laughs and kisses his shoulder.

*

Arthur stays for another two weeks, cooking meals for Liesl and her friends, sleeping late, lying on her couch watching German game shows. They go for one long walk, and to a neo-expressionist exhibition at the Heidelberger Kunstverein, where they are asked to leave for fooling around in the second-to-last row during a screening of _Basquiat_. Arthur receives two e-mails from Eames after he accepts the initial job offer--one with some background on the job and a brief list of hotel recommendations--good locations with a plenty of international traffic and poor internet security; places where it’s easy to stay inconspicuous and wipe your tracks as you go along. The second e-mail is a link to a study about speeding reaction time in dreamspace. " _Thought you might find this interesting_." the e-mail says, a single line, unsigned.

*

The morning he leaves, Liesl kisses his cheek and squeezes the back of his neck, says, "Keep yourself safe," and Arthur carries it with him, the whole way, lax and loose and fucked-out beneath his clothes, and the last three weeks evaporate in the moment that Eames looks up and meets his eyes, one broad hand spread over some blueprints. He smiles. Arthur goes hot, shaken by the knowledge of what he would let Eames do to him, if Eames were to come around the table and put his hands on him, if Eames took his suitcase out of his hand and pressed his mouth to Arthur’s, what he would say if Eames turned him around and pushed him up against the wall, one heavy hand tracing down his hip, if Eames leaned in and set his teeth against Arthur’s neck, just beneath his ear, asked what he’d been doing that made him blush like that, as if Eames already knew how hard he’d tried to fuck it out of his system, and how it hadn’t worked at all.


End file.
